


Piercing the Veil

by SaidbhinLuch



Category: Sherlock - Fandom, Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Cross Over, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-01-15 07:16:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1296196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaidbhinLuch/pseuds/SaidbhinLuch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly, like the rest of us has a past, only her past was a little more difficult to explain than most. Hunter, not exactly a typical job or life for that matter and one she thought she had managed to ditch quite some time ago. Unfortunately with the return of Jim Moriarty, or the possibility of it, she can’t help but fear the worst. In what could be an explosive situation the only option she has is to turn for help, and ends up with two rather large problems, both with the name Winchester. This coupled with keeping her friends safe and Sherlock out of it, Molly isn’t sure she can handle it. (Madness, mayham, guns and Sherlolly are bound to be involved. And sass, don’t forget the sass.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hunter Rising

Molly stared at the screen, hands falling to her side completely taken aback.

"Did you miss me? Did you miss me?" Kept ringing out of the speakers, the image oddly distorted, she glanced round before peering down at the screen, trying to determine if it was real. She could hear the murmurs of people down the corridors no doubt panicking or doing what she was doing at that moment.

Well not exactly, she thought as she sprinted over to her desk and ripped her paper filing apart. They were gone, they were all done, her notes, the reports, all of it.

And now, now Sherlock was gone too.

Naturally, he didn't actually tell her in so many words but the brief message he'd left on her mobile thanking her for everything spoke volumes.

All the files on Jim Moriarty had been taken from her office. As she went to move her filing cabinets a foul smell caught her attention, she froze for a moment before reaching down to the ground and looking behind the one nearest the door. There it was, a trace of yellow powder trailing down the wall.

Shit.

She locked her door and went to the emergency safe she had hidden in her office years ago. Molly pulled back her hair, tugging at it looking at the contents of the safe. Emergency burner phone, rock salt, a couple of guns and a variety of knives, as well as the copious amounts of fake id's and ripped off credit cards.

Greg would have a field day.

She snagged the phone, slamming shut the safe hiding it behind the false wall she'd put in, tightening her jaw.

Molly Hooper, hunter. A life she thought she'd managed to ditch at age 18, for the most part.  
\--------------------------------------------------  
It started for her when she was 6, Molly woke up on a pretty average Saturday morning to find her neighbour leaning over her, knife held to her throat, eyes pitch black and drenched in blood.

The next fifteen minutes were something that Molly spent every day trying to erase from her memory.

Screaming, running for her life, the slice of the blade up her back that had left a jagged scar from what was now the swell of her hips to her scapula, her mother's dead body ripped apart in her parent's bedroom and her father killing the neighbour.

After that, she and her Dad spent the next 12 years trawling all over Ireland and England, a few other European countries killing and exorcising any and all the supernatural scum they could find. Until 18. Then she had to build a whole new life, the life she should have had for herself all along, she had been free.

Molly stepped out onto the roof, jamming the door shut behind her as she stared down at the burner phone desperately clawing for any reason to not call the number. Her usual phone dinged loudly, causing her to just about jump out of her skin. She reached into her pocket and pulled it out, expecting a message from John or possibly Mary.

221B. Immediately. Details will follow. –SH.

Well that was a swift turnaround.

Molly texted him back saying that she'd get there as soon as possible and not to try sending anyone to get her. He knew full well that Billy was already on her side, as well as Anthea, though he had yet to figure out how that had happened.

She flipped open the burner phone and hit the sole number stored on it. She stood near the fire exit as it rang out, eyes trained on the spot where Moriarty had died, supposedly at the very least.

'Hello?' A low gravelly male voice greeted her eventually, American, but not the slightly country accent she was expecting. Suspicious of her, but given the nature of their work, that was more than understandable.

'Bobby Singer?'

'No. Who is this?' The voice came through an octave lower than before, decidedly more suspicious of her now. She could hear clattering in the background, someone else seemed to have come storming into the room, another man she guessed, but with only the barest hint of a voice reaching her ear she couldn't be sure.

'I'm Molly Hooper, and I need to get through to Bobby Singer as soon as possible. He owed my Dad a favour and now I'm calling him on it.'

'Well lady you are bang outta luck, Bobby died two years ago, how about you ask someone else for help?' A different voice, the other person in the room most likely had grabbed the phone from his partner. Her stomach dropped at the new voice and tone, causing her to gulp, but his indignation, riled her own.

'Look, buddy, I'm sorry to hear about Bobby, I am really. I met him once, and he seemed like a really great hunter, but I have a situation here that is potentially explosive on a whole new level, so how about you cut the drama routine? It's not going to faze me. Also it's Doctor, although I am a lady. Can I please talk to whoever answered the phone?' The sounds of a scuffle came over the line, Molly actually pulled the phone away from her ear and looked down at it in concern.

These were American hunters?

God damn her father for burning any bridge she might have been able to use.

'Sorry ignore him, he's just a bit off lately. Molly was it?'

'Yes, and you are?'

'Sam, Sam Winchester.'

'As in John Winchester?'

'Yeees.'

'Oh. Didn't know he had kids that were alive. Oh god sorry, that, sorry today has been a bit of shock for me. Is there any chance that you'd be in London in the next few weeks?'

'Okay, no, don't think there is, why?'

'Go to the internet and look up James Moriarty. He died two years ago, a friend of mine was there when he shot himself, I, myself, did his autopsy, but somehow, less than forty minutes ago, he is all over British television.'

'That's it?'

'All my files are gone, on him, his autopsy, everything, and I found sulphur. Classic signs.'

'Why did you call looking for Bobby? You sound like you know what you're doing, surely you could handle it.'

'I got out of the life years ago. I had to, my Dad died making me promise to quit and he ensured that no hunter this side of the Atlantic would help me. If this is what I think it is, it's huge. Bigger then almost anything else, I am not ashamed to say I need help. You have this number now, text me your email, and I will send you everything I have and will dig up in the meantime. Decide for yourselves if you want to take the case, Bobby may have owed my father, neither you nor your partner do. I will check back by 9 tomorrow night, London time, I have a few things I need to get done. If you do want to help me, I'll cover the cost of your flights, everything.'

'We'll think about it.'

'Thank you. I'm sorry but I have to go, there are people I need to watch out for if this is what I am 99.9% sure it is. Thank you Sam, it's greatly appreciated.'

'I'll keep the line open for you.'

She hung up, closing the phone and taking a moment to compose herself. She had to get to 221B and act like she wasn't planning on investigating the case. She had to keep Sherlock and John out of this, they didn't know about the life, they couldn't know. It was far too much, too big, too dangerous, they were both far too reckless and impulsive when it came to this.

Maybe she should have become an actress and not a pathologist, Molly, was discovering that she was a far better liar then she had ever thought she could be.


	2. Chapter 2

Molly entered the small flat, tucking her hair behind her ear and looked awkwardly around the room. Mary and John were sitting side by side on the couch, both tense but determined Mrs. Hudson was sitting on the wooden chair by the table, pale and worried. Greg stood at the other end of the couch, staring out into the street so she couldn't make out his face.

'Ah Molly.' Sherlock greeted her from his chair as though less than an hour ago he'd hadn't been about to vanish into the ether forever. She glanced around and looked puzzled as he indicated for her to sit, but the only chair free was John's. Even Mycroft looked slightly perplexed by this action, as she sat down she had to do her best to disguise the fact that she was carrying. Luckily, John's chair's significance seemed to disguise her deceit, as everyone's swivelled from it to Sherlock, John and to Molly and back again.

'What's the plan?' Greg, the first to summon his voice, looked towards Mycroft who was now examining Molly closely, fingers lightly tapping Billy.

'First of all, Molly moves into 221B. Then we will start investigating the case. Security measures will be put into place, courtesy of Mycroft.' Sherlock may have continued to speak, but her annoyance drowned him out. Her jaw clenched, hand twitching towards her gun. The only person who noticed, or seemed to at least, was Mary, the way her eyes tracked her, Molly could feel the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

Huh.

'Molly will not.' Greg's eyebrows shot to his hairline, John barely whispered an "Oh boy" and Mrs. Hudson's hands just fluttered lightly off the table. Sherlock looked at her, head tilted to the side, looking a little flummoxed by her reaction. She reclined in the chair, crossing her legs at the knee and staring at him passively. They mirrored each other as they narrowed their eyes, eyebrows arching and glared at one another.

'Excuse me?' Sherlock's lips tightened slightly and he leaned forward a ripple running through his facial muscles. She simply bounced her foot, hands daintily clasped on her knee.

'I won't do as I'm ordered Sherlock.'

'It's for your own safety.'

'I don't see you ordering anyone else about.' Mrs. Hudson looked between the pair, eyes widening as she got up slowly, chair squeaking loudly. She pottered into the kitchen, no doubt about to make tea for everyone.

'I. I feel that is necessary. For you, to remain safe.' Molly examined him closely, eyebrows knitting together as she noticed him swallow.

'Well I am not someone you can boss around, Sherlock. And don't try manipulation I might just slap you again. I can defend myself, you know that.'

'I need to ensure it.'

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head and trying not react, there was a part of her, one she thought was long gone was telling her to crush him. Verbally, not physically, Molly always played it smart. It was amazing that Sherlock had the ability to shatter her self-confidence so completely, when she was more than adapt at it herself.

Her phone dinged loudly, Molly, took out her phone, lips tight and doing her utmost not to grind her teeth. An email from Sam Winchester. He was asking for her to contact them ahead of schedule, he may have found something, but he needed more on Moriarty and Sherlock. She also had one from Mike asking her to come in, a couple of police officers wanted to ask her about the break in.

'I have to go. Sally Donovan wants to talk to me.' She got up, skimming through the email from Sam, thinking about what she was going to tell him. Mrs. Hudson looked at her imploringly as she returned with tea and biscuits, she smiled apologetically still making towards the door but she paused at the doorway.

'Don't follow me. Billy can keep you updated on my whereabouts.' She turned back and stared Sherlock dead in the eyes. She didn't blink, she didn't waver in fact he was the first to look away, nodding almost imperceptivity.

'Molly...' He sounded apologetic and for the first time it was showing in his face, she sighed in response and shrugged.

'I have to go. My Moriarty files are gone, and they are going to check that I didn't get rid of them.'

Greg nodded at her, clearly wondering if he should go with her but she just inhaled, shaking her head and staring disapprovingly at Sherlock.

'Are you sure you didn't see anything?' Sergeant Donovan gazed at her imploringly as she sat at the other side of her desk, fingers drumming on it. Molly frowned biting her lip, hair sliding forward masking her face. She pushed it back and shook her head.

'Honestly, no one had been asking about it, everyone focused on Sherlock, barely a thought to Moriarty. They would've had to take their time looking for them.'

'Why?'

'I. I deliberately misfiled them.'

'Why?' Sally's face harden, voice dropping and eyes carefully tracking her, the other officer in the room stopped his search and looked over curiously at her.

'I thought that, maybe it would help. I had to make sure that the others were safe, No one knew, everyone just...' Molly started breathing heavily, remembering how worried she had been when Sherlock told her the risks of their plan not working. For two years, she held three lives in her hands and had nowhere to turn.

'Left you alone after The Fall.' She finished, jaw moving to the right and leaning back, staring at her with her head tilted back. Sally's eyes swept up and down the room, trying to hide the look of disdain as she spied the picture of all of them at 221B at Sherlock's return party. Molly glanced up at it, glad that Tom was the one who took it, she already had the reminder of one over-bearing, needy guy in her life, the last thing she needed was another one.

'Okay, we probably will call again. If you think of anything, please don't hesitate to call.' Sally stood up nodding, and smiling tightly and both officers left the room. She got up, waving the both off, before turning and closing the door behind her. Molly leaned up against it, locking it blindly as her phone began to ring.

'Yeah.'

'Ah is this Molly?'

'Yes, yes of course, I apologise Sam, just got a lot going on here.' Molly pinched the bridge of her nose shutting the blinds on her windows and leaning against the desk.

'Understandable. I know we said we'd wait for you to call back, but I'm ignoring Dean. He doesn't trust you.'

'Dean... brother I'm guessing? And I can't say that I blame him, but thank you for getting back to me.'

'No problem. I just, I have this feeling y'know.'

'About my case? That sinking feeling in your gut that you just can't shake? Yeah, luckily I'm in a situation where everyone expects me to feeling that.'

'They don't know.'

'About my past, gods no. The past is the past,at least that's what I've tried to live since then. What about the case got you interested? I thought you were just trying to appease a slightly paranoid woman.'

'You mentioned something about a Crow in one of the emails?' She sat down in her chair, both elbows resting on her knees as she spoke to Sam.

'Ahh yeah, in the two years Sherlock was dismantling the network, it was something that kept being mentioned. I don't think he figured out what it meant or... he didn't give it much credence.'

'Hm.'

'I thought it strange something about it just didn't sit right with me.'

'You have good instincts. I think it might be linked to a demon we know.'

'A demon you know. As in a continuing relationship?' Molly gaped into the empty room, biting back on the curses about to roll off of it.

'The world has changed.'

'Clearly. Who's the demon?' She blinked, closing her eyes and coughing slightly, Sam shifted on the other side. Molly really had to wonder about these American hunters, everything seemed backwards with them.

'Crowley.'

'Name seems familiar. I'll have to go through my Dad's notes.'

'If this does trace to him... I'm taking the case.'

'What about Dean?'

'I can convince him.'

'Good luck with that.' Molly stilled and stood up, hand automatically reaching towards her gun, stepping to the left of the door.

'I have to go, I will contact you later.' She whispered before cutting him off and slipping her phone into her back pocket. As the lock began to twitch she stood parallel to the door, raising the gun to her shoulder, wrapping her left hand around it.

'A gun, Really Molly?' Sherlock turned and narrowed his eyes at her, Molly scowled taking a beat longer than was necessary to lower the gun.

'You can never be too careful.' She spat out sarcastically walking back around her desk and putting the gun back into the back of her pants. Sherlock sat down as she gathered up her notes from her days work, and watched her closely.

'Have you even fired a gun before?' He asked resting his feet on her desk, to which she responded by batting him off. As she sat down on the desk, next to where his legs used to be, she pursed her lips.

'Can't you deduce that?'

'You're still angry at me.'

'For a genius, you really do like stating the obvious.'

'I explained why I did it.'

'And that makes it okay? Let's see, I spend years doing whatever you asked, because I'm a freaking idiot, I save your life, I lie my ass off for TWO FUCKING YEARS to all of our friends, and then you toss it down the drain for a case.'

'I didn't-'

'You could've died Sherlock. One slip of the needle, air embolism, one bad batch and you are bleeding out your eyeballs, gangrene, how many other possible consequences are there? Too many. This is how you thank me?'

She sighed again, head dropping forward, and she stared down at her shoes, her vision blurring for a moment. Molly cleared her throat and even though her hair blocked most of her face, she didn't blink the tears back. Years of pretending to be a normal woman had made her into the closest thing to it, she could be. However, when she was a hunter, she used her sweet innocent features to manipulate. So, she looked directly at him, tears still shining in her eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but words failed him.

She moved to the other side of the desk, picking up the picture of the six of them, smiling at it sadly.

'I thought, I thought that we were friends, I know you can be an absolute asshole, but... you, you. I don't even have the words for it.'

'You certainly have the actions though.' It took her a minute of gaping at him before she started giggling.

'I'm mad I can't stay mad at you.' She huffed, some strands of hair flying upwards and Sherlock started chuckling at her reaction.

'And you somehow manage to get me to act almost like an actual human being. A feat neither my mother nor John have managed.'

'Are those the reasons you won't move in to 221B?'

'Some of them. It's mostly because I can't. I can't do it Sherlock, there are things even you don't know about me and I rather it stay that way. Also there is the fact that I resent the implication that I can't defend myself.'

'Shooting range does not equal any practical skill set.'

'My Dad took me hunting as a kid. Sharp shooter. I also have training in a variety of martial arts and other means of self defence. Don't take me for a fool Sherlock, we both know better.'

'I never saw that.' Molly smiled softly at him as he stared at her, eyes lost and confused.

'Did you even bother looking?'

\------------------------------------

One wall of Molly's spare bedroom was now covered in Moriarty's history as well as any demon connections she could figure out. She climbed on the bed and pin the work "Crow?" to the centre.

Surely Crow being Crowley was too obvious.

Crowley being the King of Hell, he'd have to be savvier than that? A play on his own name?

No.

Though it would match the hubris of demons.

Man, she was rusty.

But there was also Moran. Mycroft and Sherlock hadn't managed to track him down, so he was a possibility.

The hours ticked on, Molly even passed out on the spare bed, and she woke at around six, finally understanding why Sherlock took over her room.

That bed was absolute hell for someone's back and neck. She kneeled on the bed yawning and staring wide eyed at the extent of her theories. Three walls were plastered with possibilities and probable and not so probable ties.

Then her laptop pinged loudly behind her, and suddenly two men's faces appeared in a video link pop up on her screen. The three stared at one another for a minute, Molly's exhaustion over the past couple of days causing her to forget that she wasn't wearing very much. A pair of shorts and a torn tank top.

The one with the longer hair slapped the other round the back of the head as the other one gawked at her as she turned and scooted towards the end of the bed.

'Ahhh... sorry, I've been working. Sam, Dean?' She looked at the non-gawking one first and then nodded at the other giving him a strange look.

'Yes, I'm Sam, the drooling one is Dean.' Sam, the one with the longer hair, and judging by the height difference in the way they were sitting he was quite a bit taller than his brother. Dean, well, even with the grumpy look on his face was alarming pretty.

Actually both men were alarmingly hot.

Not what she was expecting.

'We're taking the case.' Sam smiled, nodding and grabbing a tablet and flicking through it for something. Molly sat down in front of the desk, pulling on an old college hoodie and rubbing the back of her neck. Dean's eyes were slits as he tried to make out her demon map causing her to roll her eyes.

'Unless you have 100/100 vision dear, that's not going to happen. I'm glad you're helping, I am waaaay out of practice. The crow thing, there is something I'm missing and it is driving me nuts.'

'One question Hooper...' As attractive as he may be, the pinched look was not one he should really be sporting often, or at all.

'Am I really a Doctor?' She tried as his question trailed off, Sam whose head was bent over his table, puffed up his cheeks, eyebrows shooting to his hairline, moved an inch to the left.

'Are you really gonna pay for our flights and stuff?'

'That's the big question? Really?'

Okay, these were the big bad Winchester brothers? The Hunters that brought the worst of the worst demons and other supernatural creatures, to their knees?

Molly had a feeling this was going to be trickier then she'd first envisioned.


	3. Chapter 3

Molly lay down on her bad, resting on her forearms, watching the Moriarty video as it was projected onto her sole empty wall. She slowed it down, video on mute and squinted. She slid off the bed and shoved her glasses up her nose as she stood right in front of the projection. As evil as the man was, she had to admit, he did have rather excellent taste in suits.

This was she was noticing, case related clues, she was not.

A sound caused her ears to twitch and she stilled before jumping up to turn off the projector and to roll up her notes and tuck them into some of the drawers. She turned to the wall above her bed, climbing onto it and closing the artsy wooden case, that so happened to make a very handy hiding spot for key hunter notes.

As she stepped out of the room leaving the door open, no one really goes prying in a room that was carelessly left open after all, and wandered into her kitchen to see Sherlock trying to shimmy his way in. She sat down on the table, skirt slithering up her legs as the man in question struggled to get in.

‘Why didn’t you open the window fully?’ Molly asked the question as cutely as she could manage, swinging her legs to and fro.

‘Someone may have painted it shut.’ A lesser person would have sworn up and down that he grunted it out as he wiggled his way in.

‘Oh that’s unfortunate.’ He crashed to the floor, yet managing to roll and sit up, barely wrinkled.

‘Very.’ One eyebrow quirked upwards, as he stood up, taking off the belstaff and smoothing down his jacket. He made to walk past her but her swinging legs seemed to stop that. He puffed up slightly, Molly had to marvel over the fact that his shirt was managing to stay on. How was it that his shirts managed to defy the strain being put on them and she couldn’t get trousers with pockets that could fit more than a packet of gum?

In order to get past her, he actually had to stop her legs with his hands, getting right up into her space. He walked slowly around her living room, criticising her possessions no doubt. Molly spun round on the table, watching him as he paused stilling and looking around at her bland smile.

‘You do of course realise that breaking into a woman’s apartment is not a way to win her over? In fact it’s a sure fire way to get kneed.’

Sherlock turned looking at her wonderingly, he was unsure as to whether she was trying to get him out. It was amazing how slow the genius could be.

‘The door is thataways, you can go now.’ She gestured over at the door, though she was acting pissed, she really wasn’t that mad anymore. However, she needed him out of her house before he noticed something was off about how she was acting.

‘You really want me to leave?’

‘I really don’t know how to make it simpler.’ In truth as Sherlock watched her, not stepping into her personal bubble as he usually did, she wondered if he had actually bought it.

He ducked his head in what she had to assume was a bow of sorts and he walked out the door. She slid of the table and walked into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Truthfully, Sam was due to check in any minute and she need Sherlock out.

She could hear the door quietly behind her, the soft click causing her head to drop back hitting the door behind her.

Shit.

‘Molly?’

‘Sam. Hi.’  
\-------------------------------------------------------

Two hours later Sam was hitting his head off of the table in front of him, hitting a book off the back of his head. Molly was feeling exactly the same to be perfectly honest. This case was going nowhere; all they had was the trace of sulphur and the missing notes. Sam and Dean had been asking around but given they were the other side of the Atlantic, it was no surprise to her that they hadn't gotten anything helpful.

‘There has to be something we’re missing!!’

‘Wish I could say I had gotten anywhere with Dad’s old contacts but...’

‘Didn’t you say you farmed out cases?’

‘Taking cases from me is not the same as helping me with one.’

‘Nothing?’

‘Dad was more than efficient with his salting and burning of the earth and any bridges that may have connected me to any particular land mass.’ She groaned, rubbing the back of her neck and stabbing one of her many notebooks repeatedly with a pen.

She was hidden in one of Sherlock’s safe houses, one of the one’s his barely used. Little place in Piccadilly. Molly had to marvel at the fact that he managed to find one there, the man was nothing if not tenacious. It also had amazing WiFi, thank god for Billy.

Few tips and tricks about handling Sherlock Holmes, and some good food and Billy was hers.

‘Thorough.’ Sam’s voice broke through her train of thought and her head drop towards her chest in aggravation.

‘Damn that trait we shared.’ She muttered under her breath, glaring at nothing in particular.

‘So have you booked your flights yet?’ Sam shook his head, rolling his before turning to something behind him and staring back at her with a rather weary expression.

‘Dean’s a bit weird about flying.’

‘They don’t even really know how it works!!!’ Molly recoiled from her screen as the other brother’s face appeared looking quite, scared.

‘You’re afraid of flying?’ She tried not to sound quite so amused by this little fact, but as Dean glared at her she knew that she had failed. Of course Sam wasn't helping as he shook in suppressed laughter behind him.   
‘Yeah, well you’re the hunter who can’t hunt by herself.’

‘I’m a smart woman who knows when to ask for help, so, you know, the people she happens to care about don’t end up dead. Weird I know, right?’

As Dean bristled, puffing up, what was with men and that move, her actual phone rang and she stared down at the screen in confusion. She was sure that he had no contact picture on her phone, so why was one of the recent shots of him in his deerstalker coming up?

Kissass.

She shushed Dean, mostly as she was not interesting in listening to his ramblings and answered the phone.

‘Yes?’ She snapped, watching as both the Winchesters blinked at each other looking at her strangely.

‘No hello?’

‘You dislike pleasantries, why are you calling?’

‘John’s rather insistent that I make amends.’

‘But you don’t want to?’

‘I do, but I-‘

‘What the hell is she doing?? Molly!’ She made a claw with her right hand and glared at Dean who just glared back at her.

‘Who is that Molly? It’s not a voice I recognise.’

‘Because you’ve never met him. And if you so much as hint at “rebound”, know the next body part I “lend” you will be yours.’ Again both boys looked baffled and looked awkward as they listened to the argument taking place on her side of the video link. Sherlock was huffing on the other end, and Molly bounced the phone off her forehead before turning away from her laptop.

‘You need to back off Sherlock, I am mad, and hounding me isn’t going to make it better, I’m not John.’

‘Who is he?’ The tone in his voice was not something would associate with him and her. She had to be imagining what she heard. Yeah, most definitely.  
‘Honestly, he’s such a pretty boy, how can he be so brilliant???’

‘Did he just call me a pretty boy?’ Molly’s eyes twitched as Dean rolled his eyes whilst looking at something on another laptop, probably googled Sherlock. Sherlock on the other hand, was indignant, mumbling something about throwing accusations around without decent information to back it up. And that he wasn’t pretty, physical attractiveness was for the mentally inferior, or something. Molly wasn’t paying all that much attention to what he was saying she was once again wondering how she managed to get into this situation.

She froze for a moment, hanging up on Sherlock and standing to one side of the window that was really just a hole in the wall. She pulled her M&P out and held it to her side as she peered down into the street.

Someone, a male someone, not Sherlock, or Billy was outside looking for something. She had to admit, being one of London’s best pathologists had advantages for the job. Even from a distance, Molly knew that unfortunately, it was a demon and the corpse it was riding.

She went over to the laptop, muttered demon and slammed it shut. One demon, hopefully he was alone and a runt. She pulled on a long black coat, tucking a couple of blades into her boots and strapping on a bag on her leg that looked like a holster but she made into one. Joke present from Greg last year.

If only he knew.

Time to go hunting.


	4. Chapter 4

Molly stepped out into the teeming street, buttoning her jacket up to the neck and pulling on a pair of leather gloves. She pulled down her hair and a pair of glasses, unfortunately people were noticing her more and more since Sherlock came back. A few simple items and changes to her look seemed to be working for the moment.

She paused, pretending to make a call on her phone as the demon walked past her, she turned her head, watching him over the rim of her glasses.

Bingo.

Guy reeked of death, a smell most missed, simply because they didn't want to notice it, but she couldn't get away from it.

She looked down at the ground giggling lightly, as the creep turned back to check behind him.

Skinny, too skinny, tatty and torn clothes and massively holed shoes. Homeless, Molly had to hope that he wasn't one of the Network. Sherlock had already caught Dean's scent, the last thing she needed was for him to catch hers.

Poor kid, about 17, a stunted 17, but judging by the clothes and shoes, not newly acquired and as she turned and casually tracked him, turning on her iPod, hands deep in her pockets, he'd probably been on the streets for at least 5 years. Burn scars on his neck, dating back that far, cigarette burns most likely. She shook her head, as she flicked up her collar, holding back a few metres. As she caught sight of herself, she glanced around wincing and smoothed it back down.

Soon enough they were walking along the River Thames, past the Globe and Molly made to head across the Millennium bridge. She stopped about of a quarter of the way over and leaned back against the railing.

She tapped her foot idly to the music, watching the demon hanging around outside the Tate. He looking anxious, not a trait that she'd ever really associated with a demon before. Suddenly he tensed, Molly tried not to freeze as well, for fear that she'd blow her cover, but the demon was looking in the opposite direction.

He walked around the side of the Tate, Molly trying to remain inconspicuous as she tracked him. Alas, she may have underestimated her trackee she mused as she was slammed into a wall.

'What are you doing?'

'Stumbled down the wrong alley?' She tried, suppressing the wince as she pulled away from the wall.

Luckily, he was as green as Molly thought him to be, he was too busy panicking about being caught to notice that she was lifting her leg and reaching for a knife. She sliced upwards, ripping open a serious wound from gut to clavicle, rotating as he stumbled backwards and kicking him in the gut. He groaned as she moved,ripping out something attached to the inside lining of her jacket. The pain radiating in his cest from the holy water soaked knife stopped him from noticing her attach a handcuff to the closest bin railing, but he copped as his arm was yanked up but it was too late.

'What the fu-' She slammed her hands around his wrist as fast as she could, so he would be able to get free.

'Yeah sorry about that, warded handcuffs are such a pain aren't they?' Molly shoved him backwards with her leg, sighing as she noticed the blood stains up her boots.

'Damn, I'm going to have to clean those.'

She bent down, bouncing on her the balls of her feet, pulling out her gun and tapping off of her thigh.

'I'm going to need some answers.'

'I don't know anything.'

'Oh even you lower level rats know something. You should have a little more faith in yourself.' She tapped him on the leg with the gun, shaking her head mockingly at him.

'Then you'll kill me, I don't see any benefit, either way I'm screwed, so I'd prefer to stick it to some chick Hunter.'

'I'm not going to kill you, the kid you've ridden to death has had enough crap in his life. I'm going to exorcise your ass.'

At this, the demon started to react, kicking out and went to yell out, but Molly gagged him. Shaking her head once more, she paused, standing up and listening to the hubbub of the city before loud clammerings of music starting ringing out.

Yeah I didn't think you'd like that option. I hear hell is all kinds of upside down and inside out. Annnnnnnnnnnd I'm pretty sure that the demons who talk to Hunters are at the bottom of the food chain. Killing you? Not really punishment enough.' His eyes flashed black in rage and fear, and Molly smiled ripping the gag from his mouth.

'Hooooowever, if you agree to talk, then I'll well I'll make it easy. Deal?' Molly leaned back down, staring at the demon curiously.

'Okay! Okay!'

'Hear anything about Jim Moriarty?'

'No one knows how he did it! Someone higher up kept whatever Moriarty had quiet.'

'But he had a deal of some sort?'

'Not a crossroads one.'

'Higher up…. How much higher up?'

'Pretty high.'

'Crowley or Abbadon high?'

'One of their Lieutenants I think.'

'We're in England dear, it's LEFTenant. Not that. Mind the Queen's English.' The demon's jaw clenched and his eyes blackened.

'Okay we had a deal, didn't we?' Molly reached around to the back of her jeans, steadying herself on the demon. In a flash she had the handcuff of his hands, chanting an exorcism and winged him with a silenced gun. The demon roared as back off, shooting him once more in the foot with an iron round, wincing internally at what she was doing to the kids mangled corpse. Unfortunately just as she was finishing the demon managed to get a lucky shot it and gave her a long cut all her own with a knife. As he smoked out she panted against the other way, cursing and moaning in pain.

She shimmied off her jacket and stared down at her now ruined t-shirt, muttering in annoyance. Ducking behind the bin, she yanked of her shirt, inspecting her wound as best she could, not too deep, she could patch it up with only a slim chance of a faint scar. She cut the torn part of the cotton off, pulling the remains back on and taking out a roll of bandages from her holster bag.

Molly strapped herself up as best she could, wrapping the torn cotton around her to try to staunch the bleeding. Then she went about clearing up the blood that might have been hers, before leaning down and closing the kids eyes. Thank goodness she had the foresight to wear her leather gloves.

Poor kid.

She took out her new burner phone and flicked through the apps, Molly had always kept a nest egg in case she needed hunting equipment again. This phone wouldn't track back to her either, and it was a smartphone. Which was handy given its voice scrambler app, well more like voice disguise app.

She ducked round the Tate and disappeared down one of the side streets, after leaving a message with an officer down that there was a body down at the Tate.

It was the least she could do for him.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
She was trying to bite down on the pain as she tried to walk normally down the street, Molly needed to hurry the blood was seeping through her bandages, it was beginning to stick to her jacket, and the smell wouldn't take long to be detected. She didn't have time to be hanging around, as she headed back to her flat.

'OH GOD' The words slipped out a lot louder than Molly would have ever wanted them to, unfortunately the rolling of her stomach caused by the pain, ensured that wasn't happening.

'Molly?'

Oh shit. Molly slowly turned round to see a heavily pregnant Mary Watson standing behind her, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Fuck.

'Mary, hi.' She smiled as brightly as she could as the other woman's head tilted, movements oddly controlled. Molly kept her breathing even and measured as the blue eyes swept over her.

'Are you alright?'

'Self-defense class got a little out of hand. Didn't realise it was that bad.'

'Well you should go take care of it.' Mary laid a gentle hand on her arm and smiled softly at her. Though all sweetness and fluff, the hairs on Molly's neck rose, something was off, now she was sure of it. But what exactly could a heavily pregnant woman be capable of?

Though it could be why John moved back in with Sherlock for a while…

'How are you?' Why she asked the question, Molly couldn't tell you, and she was kicking herself as the words came out. Though it would have been uncharacteristic if she hadn't.

'Oh good, besides having this little one kicking me up a storm and Sherlock trying to get us to call her Sherlock. What sort of name is that for a child anyway?'

'It's not even his given name. He's actually William.'

'How did you-'

'Helped fake his death remember? Birth certificate is a necessary part of that.'

'Oh you're very good.' It was eerie how at times, Mary would sound so much like Sherlock... And it wasn't from being his friend either, ti was more like they were made of similar stuff... She couldn't be a sociopath though... Could she?

'I suppose I might be. I better go, I think I need some ice and a big glass of wine.' Molly tried to laugh it off, however the hairs on her neck will still sky high, Mary was watching, deducing, she had to play it right.

'And some ice cream I would wager?'

'And waste what good I just did? Yes. That is needed.' Both women laughed lightly before heading their separate ways.

The moment Molly stepped foot onto the stairs to her flat, she knew that something was off, very off. The gun was once more in her hand kept in line with her other as she unlocked the door slowly, back pressed up against it.

'Oh for fucks sake Sherlock.' She stopped, hitting one of the walls, side screaming in pain now as she looked around her empty flat.

And she meant empty.

Not a thing left in her flat, except Toby. Of course the bastard left Toby behind.

She picked him up and knocked on the door of Mrs. Moran next door.

'Hi sorry, do you mind taking Toby for a while? Something's after coming up…'

'Oh of course dear, he's a delight.' As Mrs. Moran hugged the cat, uncomfortably close to her chest, she could feel her cat want to kill her. Don't blame Tob's. It's all Sherlock's fault.

'Thanks.'  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
For once Molly seemed to have caught Sherlock off guard as she kicked the door open, breathing heavily. Her stuff was gone, her side was killing her, she had to leave her cat with her nutty neighbour and now she was dealing with Holmesian antics.

Fuck it to all hell.

'Fix it.' She hissed, not giving him a moment to respond as she spun round and stormed off, door to both the living room and 221B cracking slightly as she slammed them shut behind me.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
She staggered into her newly acquired safe house, with a lifted first aid kit and a bottle of 60 proof vodka.

She sat down on the table, ripping of the jacket and shirt and opening the first aid kit. She took a shot of vodka before pouring the vodka down the cut, luckily she was biting down on a leather belt, one she pinched from Sherlock. Then she bandaged herself up, fortunately it wasn't deep enough to need stitches, but man did it sting like hell.

She jumped grabbing a knife and spinning around as a whistle echoed in the room.

'If that pretty boy hasn't jumped you, I sure will.'

'Dean!'

Molly turned and pulled on a hoodie as she turned around and crossed her arms. The man in question was smirking at her deviously, eyes roaming over her, not observing the bristling and jaw clench.

'If I was there, I'd be handing you your ass right now. Say something like that about me or anyone else, I'll make sure you don't have any fun.'

As Molly smiled cutely at the screen, Sam was chuckling in the background giving her a thumbs up as Dean visibly whitened, holding his hands up in an attempt to pacify her.

'So what tickets am I booking?' She asked as she sat down, grimacing and taking another shot of vodka.

'How about a boat?'

'You own a boat?'

'Dean we're not getting a boat to England.' Both boys ignored Molly's attempt at humour and opted for glaring at one another. Molly thought about the ferry option, shaking her head slowly.

'I am not paying for a ferry. Right. Wednesday, six thirty flight, JFK.' She opened a window and found the cheapest flights that she could get at such short notice. She looked up smiling as she hit the return button in a melodramatic fashion as Dean looked aghast.

'But-'

'Sorry I gotta go take a million pain killers. Good night gentlemen.' Molly grinned waggling her fingers as she closed the laptop slowly.


	5. Chapter 5

Two days later, Molly cut was healing well, but she still had to be   
careful, any sudden movement was still causing it to bleed slightly.

Her hunter map was now sprawling over the ceiling of her spare room, hunter   
room, as she now referring to it as. While getting the stuff up there had   
been painful, it was a lot easier to examine without her having to scramble   
to hide everything. Greg and John had started to follow Sherlock’s habit in   
popping in unexpectedly, no doubt making sure hadn’t disappeared or been   
murdered.

Cheery.

She also got the feeling that Mary had been asking John questions about   
Molly; John was a lot more inquisitive about her and her past as of late. 

While she could definitely argue that it was John realising how important   
she was to Sherlock and kicking himself for not seeing it sooner, the   
slight bamboozlement to the questions lead to believe that she who was   
pulling the strings. Molly sighed, rubbing her temples, closing her eyes   
trying to clear her mind of the clutter.

The Winchesters were going to be in London tomorrow and there was nothing   
new to add other then Moriarty had worked a deal of some sort.

Not a cross roads one, not his style, *Westwood* after all. 

She sat up slowly, trying to keep from pulling her wound and shimmying off   
the bed. Toby wound through her legs as she padded into her kitchen. The   
sunlight, a rarity in London, streamed in through her living room window   
and into her small kitchen and she stood facing into it. 

Her eyes closed as she relished in the heat for a moment, but that moment   
ended quickly. Molly sneezed loudly, stilling as a ruffle noise from her   
front door. She looked at it moving to it carefully, as silently as she   
could and picked up her gun from behind the books on her bookcase. Molly   
held it at her side, hiding it with her leg as she opened the door using it   
as her shield. 

All that was awaiting her was a tall thin black box wrapped in a dark   
purple ribbon was leaning against the door. Toby’s meowed loudly from her   
feet; Molly had to put on a happy little smile as she leaned down to pick   
up the package given that Mrs. Moran was now watching her through a   
slightly open door.

She carried it in, ushering Toby in gently with her foot and grabbing her   
Harry Potter mug for a large cup of tea. 

A quiet knock came from the door, slow and measured, definitely not   
Sherlock, he would’ve just broken in a new and unexpected manner, John’s   
knock was always more shorter and more abrupt. So, that meant Greg.

‘Hey.’

Greg blinked a couple of times as she opened the door, taken aback by her   
lack of surprise and the fact the mug that had become his over the past few   
years was already by the kettle.

‘I always forget how good you are at that.’ He sat down opposite her,   
giving the package a curious look, but shaking his head and focusing back   
on Molly.

‘What?’ She placed the tea bags in the cups and placing them on the table,   
turning get milk and sugar. 

‘Figuring people out, deductions all your own.’

‘I don’t see everything.’

‘You see what’s important. You’re the only one who can figure Sherlock out,   
well except for his brother.’

‘And even Mycroft misses what’s important.’ Greg continued thoughtfully,   
eyes narrowed and examining Molly, who simply rolled her eyes.

‘Neither of them sees it as important.’ She pointed out, running her finger   
around the rim of her mug.

‘Sherlock is beginning to.’

‘I suppose he is. Who would have thought that would happen?’

‘We knew him back in the rough days.’

‘I mentioned the wardrobe incident. Nothing.’ She made a cutting gesture   
wither her hand, laughing slightly at the memory of Sherlock’s face when   
she mentioned it in the lab.

‘He doesn’t remember?’ Greg choked on his tea and opened his mouth in   
amazement. While he was used to Sherlock forgetting his name, on purpose,   
he frequently told her that Sherlock never seemed to forget anything in   
relation to her. Something Molly doubted to her very core.

‘Either he really managed to delete it, or he was so high he can’t   
remember.’

‘You should sell that story to the papers. Far more entertaining than   
Janine’s stuff.’ Even as he said it Greg looked like he desperately wanted   
to take back what he just said. Which intrigued Molly to no end.

‘Oh. So you’ve met her?’ Her head tilted as she smiled lightly, watching   
Greg cough awkwardly, ruffling his hair.

‘Yeah, and?’ Oh defensive. Interesting. 

‘Oh wow. You like her.’ 

‘No.’ His answer was far too quick, his eyes too wide and his hand clenched   
around his mug. Honestly, it was too easy to figure him out.

‘Greg really? You have no poker face! So cute!! At least you’ll know   
Sherlock will give next to no fucks about it.’

‘She’s, interesting.’

‘Devious.’

‘Interesting.’

‘Ahhh. *Hot.’*

‘Fine. Yes. I hate you sometimes Hooper.’

‘Because when I figure things out you can’t get angry?’

‘You do it in such a nice way!!’

‘How awful of me; to not shove my observations in your face to bolster my   
ego!’

‘Yes, bang on. It is a pain. I have no justifiable reason to dislike you,   
or even get a little annoyed.’

‘Because I’m so nice?’

‘Yeah, you lied your *ass off* for *two years* and I can’t get mad at you.’

‘I do feel awful about that. As I should.’

‘Yeah and I can never play poker with you.’

‘I’d beat your pants off.’

‘You would.’

‘Easy pickings.’

‘Now what is in the box?’ Both turned to look at the black box that was   
sitting idly on her kitchen table now, purple ribbon gleaming in the last   
lingering streams on sunlight.

‘I’m sure it’s from Sherlock.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Just a feeling.’

‘Open it and see.’

Molly glared at the DI, then heaving a melodramatic breath she reached over   
and pulled the package to her. Pulling off the ribbon with a flourish she   
opened it, and recoiled in horror as a blood soaked whip fell out of the   
*present*.

‘Not from Sherlock then.’

‘No. Best call him though.’

‘Already on it. Greg stood up as Molly moved the mugs of tea to the sink   
and went to grab Toby before he could damage the evidence.

As she walked back in to the kitchen after locking Toby in her room, Greg   
talking quietly and urgently on the phone Molly went to inspect the whip   
and the box.

About litre on the whip and remaining in the box, she’d guess, odd that the   
decorative box, with a familiar velvet pattern could retain the fluid   
without any sign of leakage. If the blood was from one person, they could   
still easily be alive, if this was the only evidence of the injuries.

She peered over it, trying to place the pattern and the significance of the   
whip. If it had been sent to Sherlock, Molly would be sure it was linked to   
that Irene Alder, but to her?

It made no sense.

Then she noticed flash of white at the bottom of the box, carefully placed   
in a small space between the box and the wrapping. Molly as sneakily as she   
could; moved her hand towards the bag on the counter and pulled out a   
tweezers, then being careful not to attract Greg’s attention, pulled it out   
and on seeing the insignia on the paper, shoved in her back pocket.

‘Sherlock, John and Mary are on their way.’

‘Mary?’

‘Both men are insistent on keeping her close, understandable in her   
condition.’

Crap. Molly had to concentrate on not letting the wince explode on her   
face, the possibility of Mary figuring out what she was, before she could   
do the same...

That would be bad.

Dangerous and explosive.

‘Well that’s good. Maybe they can figure out what this means. My home is   
now a crime scene, great.’ The last thing she needed was more people coming   
in and milling around, she’d have to hide her hunter ceiling again. God   
damn it, it took so much effort getting it up there in the first place with   
the cut on her torso.

‘Can you give me five minutes Greg?’ She tried to sound as freaked out as a   
woman should be on discovering a blood whip had been dropped to her door,   
and made her way to the spare room.

As fast and as quietly as she could, with care to not aggravate her chest,   
she tried to get everything off of her ceiling and hide it away. Molly had   
to scramble to get it all in the wooden case as she heard the door burst   
open in the other room.

Molly walked to the window, pulling out the note opening it with a shaky   
breath.

*Molly Hooper is a liar,*

*And Sherlock Holmes is none the wiser.*

*The Hunter and the Detective are not alone,*

*The King is about to ascend the throne.*

The message was connected to Sherlock but was aimed directly at her.

King?

Suddenly Molly found herself slammed into a wall, a gun shoved into her   
ribs; she kicked back, causing her attacked to stumble heavily. She spun   
round standing defensively only to find Mary facing her, gun trained on the   
spot in between her eyes.

‘I *knew* it.’

‘I don’t care what you know, who are you really?’ Her voice was an ice cold   
hiss, eyes flashing dangerously and Molly felt her blood rise sharply.

‘You already know.’

‘A Hunter. You *are* good.’

‘As are you. I’m guessing *you’re* the one who shot Sherlock.’

‘Yes.’

‘Can’t say I haven’t felt that temptation. Are you going to lower that,   
with the three next door? We both know it’s too dangerous for them to know.’

‘Sherlock would either run like hell, or...’ Mary gestured loosely with the   
gun and then tucked it into the holster hidden by her loose jacket, one   
hand rubbing her heavy stomach absent-mindedly.

‘Run straight in. I’m on the case.’ Molly tucked the note back into her   
jeans, rubbing her shoulder irritably.

‘Don’t think this means I trust you, you’re a hunter, I can’t trust   
jackshit you say.’

‘And you’re a spy. Which one of us can hold the moral high ground?’

The door opened and John poked his head in the door looking concerned as   
both women pulled on their masks. Mary’s one full of worry and Molly’s one   
of a woman trying to hide her fear, but the ducking of her head and slight   
tremble of the hand giving her away.

And so the game is played.


	6. Chapter 6

'Roughly a litre of blood I'd say, the donor could easily still be alive.' Molly followed Mary back into the room, to find Sherlock leaning over the whip and blood drenched box. Mary turned and smiled sympathetically which stilled her blood, which helped her more than it hindered her act.

Odd.

Molly sat down at the kitchen eyeing the package, lip curling in distaste; Sherlock looked up at her, eyes flickering over her quickly. She looked up at a spot somewhere over his head, training her eyes on it. Greg stared at her, eyes nothing more than slits but focused back on the box. Mary stood in her living room, stroking Toby almost passively much to Molly's chagrin.

She sighed, pulling a chair over and sitting down, burrowing her face in her hands.

Who in the heck was the king?

Was Moriarty involved?

How was he involved?

How did it all tie together?

She stood up waving off the looks of concern from John and Greg and headed into her bathroom. It wouldn't take long for Sherlock find the compartment in the box, so she had to act quickly. She pulled out the note, tucked it in into a slit in her bra, and stared at her reflection, arms bracing either side of the sink. All she had were questions, and no answers, as much as she adored a challenging puzzle, it needed to be a fair one.

Her Hunter phone buzzed and Molly lifted her leg uncomfortably. One handy thing about her penchant for looser trousers; was that she was able to hide her untraceable phone by strapping it to her thigh. She locked the door lowered her pants, taking out the phone and reading the message.

Landed in Gatwick. Will be in the city centre in three hours there, thereabouts. –SW.

You better supply me with something to knock out Dean with for the return journey though. SW.

Just in time, I was given a very unpleasant gift this evening. It's starting. –MH.

She put the phone back as the lock began to click and rumble and pulled up her pants as fast as she could. She turned on the tap and splashed her face quickly, the door swung open and Sherlock stood there watching her.

Molly didn't turn towards him, only looking at him out of the corner of her eyes, water dripping off the end of her nose. Neither of them spoke, the only noise being the plonk of the water droplets onto the ceramic of the sink. Eventually she grabbed a towel and patted dry her face.

'Did you find a slip of paper? Possibly made from recycled book paper.' He asked in a rather reserved tone, eyes flickering downwards to the tiled floor.

'No, I didn't see anything of the sort with the package, why was something found?'

'Found missing. There is a slit between the wrapping and the water tight box, trace evidence leads me to believe that there was a note of some sort hidden there.'

'Maybe it was a note for the delivery person. A thank you? A threat?'

'You're very calm.'

'I'm a pathologist Sherlock, a bit of blood and a whip is hardly enough to send me screaming into the wilderness.' Molly finally turned to face him, hip leaning against the sink and folding her arms across her chest, rolling her eyes. Sherlock's eyes zoomed up, all shades of electric blue and yellow, a smirk playing about his features. He shut the door behind, locking it and standing right into her personal bubble.

This wasn't Sherlock trying to deduce her, this was Sherlock trying to get her fight or flight reactions to kick in. His arms were bracketed on either side of the sink, encasing her in his presence.

'You keep this up and people will talk Sherlock.'

'That's what they do. Why aren't you reacting normally?'

'This is normal.'

'Not for you.'

'My life is more than likely in danger, I can't be weak anymore.'

Sherlock let go which had Molly's head whipping from one side to another and up at him in confusion. His face was tight, the look not to dissimilar to his one of great sadness, but different enough for Molly not to be sure what it meant.

'You've never been weak.' The words caught both of them by surprise and before she could respond he was going in an overly dramatic whirl of the coat. Her face contorted as she heard Greg and John call out after the fleeing man. From predator to prey, she had not seen that coming.

Her heart hammering on the other hand; that was something she knew was going to happen. Why did he have to smell so damn good?

\---------------------------------------------

A couple of hours later, Molly was walking around the Natural History Museum, pausing at the Tyrannosaurus Rex. Little kids gushed and scampered around her as she carefully watched out for her contacts.

Late. Not something she liked, was it a power play by the two trying to establish a higher ground. They missed the point that Molly didn't need power, the false assumption the other half had it simply handed it to her.

Convoluted, but Molly Hooper was not one for an easy life.

And suddenly she felt them enter the building, her back was to them but their presence was overwhelming. She tucked her hair behind her ears and walked the up the stairs, looking at Charles Darwin.

'Fascinating man, Darwin.' Sam stood next to her, towered way over her head actually, cocking his head at the statue.

'Oh yes, did you know he ate every animal he encountered? Including drinking fluid from a tortoises bladder? He also rode them.' She told him, tilting her head in a similar manner; Dean leaned over looking at the pair with his eyes narrowed in bafflement.

'What?'

'Nothing wrong with expanding one's mind, Dean.' Sam replied, rather snarkily and Molly suddenly felt that she was in the middle of a very tense family situation.

'So, welcome to England.' She cut across the pair in order to diffuse the argument about to brew up. She noticed they were getting some looks and made to move to the massive group of tourists.

'Okay, this is not the place to talk, lady.'

'Doctor. I think I may have a tail, I thought I shook him in TopShop. Ah shit.'

'Demon?' Both boys spoke in unison as they followed her fast pace through the crowd of people.

'No. The British bloody government.'

'What?' Molly stopped and gave the brothers a look, they had spoken several times in unison in their video chats and conversations, but in person; it was just plain weird.

'A friend, well I say friend, his brother works for the government, very hush hush and well given the situation...' She rolled her hand at them but noticed Dean was squinting at her mouthing the word friend. Sam just shook his head minutely at Dean, mouth open, both pissed off and dumbfounded.

'Frieeeeeeeeeeeeeend?' Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and Molly just made a tiny noise from the back of her throat and turned away.

Sam caught up with her in one stride and Dean trailed along behind, trying to work out the meaning of the exaggerated friend.

'Is he always like that?' She muttered under her breath to Sam curiously, ignoring Dean's own mutterings and musings behind them.

'Pretty much.' The weariness in his voice was palpable but there was an underlying warmth, one only siblings could have for one another. She heard it on rare occasion from both the Holmes brothers, despite their outward frostiness.

'Oh.'

'Yeah.' Molly looked at him, neck craning, mouth open going to start a sentence, but thought better of it and checking their tails status.

'I think we lost him, thank god for packs of tourists.' She sighed as they made if back into the city, sans the far too well dressed man behind, but was aware that she had to be vigilant for the Homeless Network.

'I didn't realise you had such powerful friends...' Sam rubbed the back of his head, glancing around him, trying to see what Molly had seen.

'Determined too. Turns out you just can't be normal if you were a Hunter.' She laughed but stopped quickly as it came out very hollowed and depressed.

'We're all freaks.' Sam muttered, not quietly enough for Molly not to catch it, seemed to mean something more than the usual hunter weirdness.

'At least we have our eyes open to the world.' She patted his arm in an attempt to be reassuring, but both of them just ended up looking at each other tiredly.

'I'm not a freak!' Sam's head just dropped as Molly stared at him in consternation, her opened and closed several times, no words springing to mind. She simply narrowed her eyes, shaking her eyes before puffing up her cheeks.

'As if my life wasn't complicated enough as it was, now I have this.' She rubbed her left temple and Dean stood right in front of her.

'This? You asked for our help lady.'

'Doctor. I need people who can help me, not hinder me. Now back off, there are people who know who I am, I do not need my friends finding out about my new American friends.'

'You say American like it's a bad thing.' Dean stood back, and came very close to pouting at her words. All the same, God and country. Molly was now rolling her eyes internally and damning her father for forcing her into this situation. British hunters would have been so much easier.

'It's not like you guys have the best reputation.' She shrugged as they turned towards Piccadilly and the safe house.

'You have a bad reputation.' Dean went to cross his arms, but dropped them and moved to cross them once more. Sam looked at those he was ranting mentally so as to avoid strangling his little brother and Molly's face just slackened.

'Oh stellar wit Mister Wilde.' She retorted, once she had recovered from his pathetic put down and just stormed ahead. This is not what she had signed up for. She could only hope, pray and dream that this case either was solved quickly, or killed her quicker.


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

The first thing that reached Molly as she opened her front door was the loud screeches of a cat and the yells of a grown man. She wrenched open the door and slammed it shut causing both cat and man to pause unexpectedly.

' _You are supposed to stay in the safe house, and to_ _ **never**_ _come here!'_ She hissed at Dean as he remained frozen in the middle of her sitting room.

'I got bored?' Molly just gaped at him, mouth slack and eyes wide in bamboozlement; she blinked and walked into her room in a fugue state.

Why had her Dad told her to call this lot when she was really stuck?

Between this and his deal, Molly was at a loss as to where she got her wits from. She took out her phone, pausing and grabbing a set of hand cuffs in her emergency bag and storming into the living room. Molly grabbed Dean by the arm and dragged him to her spare room and cuffed him to the railing.

'Pick this, and I will stab you. In the crotch. Carefully. With a scalpel.' She narrowed her eyes at him for a second, before patting him down and stripping him of his lock picks and other tools that could be used. Dean seemingly had not noticed her actions, face white and crossing his legs defensively. At least he knew that she was in charge of things now.

'Honestly I cannot believe you came here. This is supposed to be _undercover_ but noooo you seem incapable of do that, or being anyway low key. Moriarty plays it big, I cannot afford the same.'

'We're the big bad secret? The secret boyfriend?' Dean recovered quickly, settling against the bed frame, eyes hooded and skimming over her leeringly.

'Never mind your shit timing; you are the exact opposite of my type.' She waved him off rummaging through one of her drawers, ignoring the feel of his eyes on her backside.

'What you don't like charm?' She looked at him in the mirror, wincing and sighing in exasperation at his antics.

'I like _brains._ ' The sociopathic tendencies she could easily leave behind, in theory of course. Her current hypothesis needed further study; her first two had not given her much in the way of hope. Tom was not what she needed in her life and Moriarty was exactly what she was trying to avoid.

'Look Molls-' Dean started but she heard a knock at her door, she spun round and shoved a balled up sock into his mouth, patting his cheek and hissing in his ear.

'No noise, no escaping, or Mister Scalpel is going to have a _miiiiiiiiiighty_ fine time with himself, okay?' She pulled back and gave him her widest smile, which naturally caused Dean to whiten dramatically.

She closed the door, leaning against it for a moment, before heading to the door and opening it just a crack. An impatient Mary was hovering outside her door; Molly opened the door and smiled tightly at her second unexpected guest of the day.

'Tea? Decaf coffee? Not entirely sure how I ended up with that, I have no recollection of buying it.'

'Water will do thank you Molly. I think you and I need to talk.' Not here for pleasure then, the woman meant business, eyes calculating and more than likely armed. Charming.

'We do. The boys not following you?' She asked rather cattily as Mary sat down in her favourite chair and wiggled around in it as though it was hers.

'Oh they know I'm here. They may be labouring under the misapprehension that I came to check up on you and to see how pissed off you really are.' She tilted her head, watching the pathologist with the eerily still demeanour that had Molly on edge.

'Oh of course. The truth must be a foreign concept to you.' She sat down on the couch, turned towards her frosty guest and smiled sweetly.

'So, a Hunter?' Mary asked coolly, but with a hint of acid in the words, so Molly shook back her hair and smirked.

'A spy is it?'

'This is going to be a far longer conversation than either of us wants if we remain quippy about it.' 

'It will less entertaining, but quicker I suppose.' Both women nodded at one another, slightly saddened that time meant they could not see if they matched each other in wit as well as they did in subterfuge. 

'So, you think the situation is because of supernatural weirdness.'

'I have received a message that would lead me to that conclusion.'

'There was a note.' _Sherlock was right_ ,the undercurrent to her seemingly bald statement.

'Of course.' _Of course he was, he's not an effing buffoon._ Molly could help but think that now she and Mary were circling each other and sizing each other up. 

'You're investigating, with help? I see that you've haven't been active since your late teens.'

'Yes, I have consultants of sorts.' Mary's brow knotted, surprised by Molly's acceptance of her accurate deductions, neither of them had the time to waste of such antics. But then her face twisted into a smug smirk, which given the protective hand on her stomach, Molly found it a bit confusing.

'Does that include the one inside in the spare bedroom?' Ah. She couldn't have missed that. Molly settled back in the couch, crossing her legs and gave Mary the filthiest smile she could muster, rapping her fingers on the arm in quick succession.

'Oh no, that's just fun and games.' Molly made sure to add a touch of ice to her words, the underlying meaning to her quip clear. Mary's head pulled back, jaw thrust outwards, her other hand twitching to her side.

'Keep my nose out of it?'

'You are pregnant and these matters tend to get messy.'

'Fine.'

'Well have a nice day.' She smiled blandly, getting up as Mary rose and moved towards the door. She paused at the door, breathing in, nostrils flaring and stared at Molly.

'Sort it. And try not to get yourself killed; Sherlock is rather fond of you after all.'

Before Molly could react Mary left with a sunny call to Dean in the back and skipped as well as she could for a heavily pregnant lady. A deadly assassin skipping out her front door, that was a sight she would never un-see.

'Oy! You gonna free me anytime soon Lady?'

'Doctor.' She muttered as she locked the door behind the skipping woman, head dropping and resting her forehead against the door.

* * *

' _Dean!_ What the hell were you thinking?' Molly sat in amused silence as Sam began to argue with his older brother. She was sitting on a rickety chair, sipping a cup of tea calmly and making idle notes in her old notebook.

She let the conversation wash over her as she pulled out the note and smoothed it out, examining it further. She had taken a few small samples and analysed them in the lab when she had been left alone for long enough. Sherlock and Greg had been continuing their policy of popping in unexpectedly as she insisted on slipping her tails.

'Can we please get started?' She cut across the once more escalating argument waving the note about, one foot tapping casually. Sam nodded as Dean huffed in the corner, Sam took the note and held it up to the light, eyes narrowed in concentration.

'You sure it's not Crowley?' He asked lowering it and Dean reached over and took it to take a look at it himself.

'No, but _about_ to ascend the throne, Crowley already considers himself to be king, I doubt he'd send such a pointed message. And I've never had any contact with…. Him.' Molly trailed off for a moment, closing her eyes slowly for about thirty seconds.

'OH!' She jumped up and started digging through her stacks of books, trying to find one particular volume she had a vague memory of her father stealing. AS far as she could recall, he'd said it had been for the owners own good. Molly, at the time had been studying, so she really hadn't been paying all that much attention. A lack of attention which was now biting her in the backside as she was digging through the books with barely a clue as to what she was looking for.

'What is going on?' One eyebrow arched against her will as she looked back at the pair.

'Do you two even realise that you do that?'

'Do what?' The looked at one another and back down at Molly, once again speaking in unison and seemingly unaware of the frequency at which they did so. She gaped at the pair, tilting her head before shaking it and turning away.

'Nevvvvvvvvvvvvvvermind. I don't think this has anything to do with Crowley, I think it has to do with the demon was father was tracking before he was diagnosed.'

'Why?'

'Instinct. Crowley doesn't know me, he knows you two, but I've had no contact with him and he deals in the States now. And my Dad kept talking about a Crow becoming King, wings talking flight or something. I thought it was the cancer talking but…'

'You think you missed something?' Sam tried bending down onto his haunches and gathering the books into neater stacks out of the way.

'More like something I just barely remember. Damnit.' She closed her eyes tight in a desperate attempt to drag up the memory, but to no avail.

'I could really do with a mind palace right about now.' She stated ruefully, lips turning upwards into an empty smile, eyes shining with trepidation.

'A what?' Dean asked, crossing his arms and staring at her with a contemptuous expression.

'Doesn't matter now. This is about me, Sherlock was right; he is coming after me, but for more reasons than he knows.'

'More reasons?'

'I helped Sherlock fake his death. I was key in doing so according to him.'

'What did you do?' Sam asked, more curious than Dean who was rolling his eyes, jaw clenching. Though he had not met Sherlock, he had decided that he was not a fan. Annoyed that someone not related to him had remarkable bone structure perhaps.

'Sorry, that's spoil the magic.' She grinned at the pair getting up, crossing her arms, trying to remember where the book was.

'My Dad made a deal with a demon, and I think that demon is coming after me now, but it's not possible.'

'Why not?' Sam asked, as he started packing the books away in neat rows on the useless bed. He dragged hand through his hair, considering what she had to say very seriously. Dean, unlike Sam, seemed completely unimpressed with her revelations as he cracked open a bottle of beer.

'I was supposed to be free, no hunting no demons, I don't go looking for them; they don't come gunning for me. That was the deal.'

'What did the demon get out of it?'

'His life, as well as a miserable death for my father.' There was more to the story, but Molly didn't want to think about it, let alone share with the brothers.

'The demon gave your Dad cancer?' Dean's face whitened, fingers on the bottle of beer tightening.

'Yep. Lovely creatures, demons.' She paused for a moment, as hers eyes welled up at the memories of her fathers' final few months. Painful and long, strength draining and the usually strong man just wasting away. With Molly at his side unable to help, she took a shaky breath but stopped as her normal rang.

'Hello?'

'Molly! Thank god!'

'Greg what's wrong?' Molly stepped away from the boys, in order to try to get some illusion of privacy.

'Someone broke into your flat and well…' The hesitance in his voice resulted in her stomach dropping out of her, who had been hurt?

'Well what?'

'They torched some of it.' That seemed a tad anticlimactic she thought, frowning, surely there had to be something more there.

" _Tell her I have her cat!"_ A female Dublin accent could be heard vaguely in the background, as well as a faint purring. At least Tobs was okay, she reasoned, and she breathed a sigh of relief at that and the fact that she had the foresight to only have copies of her research in her flat.

'Is that Janine? And what you do you mean; _some of it?_ '

'You'd need to see it for yourself. I think you need to consider Sherlock's offer.'

" _Honestly George, give it here."_

" _Really Sherl? Really? You can identity a litany of ash for no apparent useful reason but can't remember a friends name?'  
_ Molly unfortunately was stuck on the other end listening to the rapidly escalating argument, why was Janine there? Why did she have Toby? Why was Greg so freaked out?

" _Oh do stay out of it."_

" _As your ex-finace, I can do as I bloody well please."_

" _I thought we were now even on that."_

" _I won't use it for further gain… much, but I will toss it in your face as needs be."_

" _Can you both stop it?"_

'Can either one of the three of you please tell me what is going on?' Molly snapped loudly on the phone, leading Janine to _ha_ loudly on the other end, Sherlock to humph and Greg to curse under his breath.

'You may need to see this for yourself.' Sherlock had taken it on himself to take the phone and judging on the scuffling noises, Greg was none too pleased about it.

'Why? Aren't your eyes enough?' Truth was, Molly knew she was onto something and she really didn't want to leave in case she lost sight of the answer.

'Molly. You need to see this, there is something here and I can't place it.' For the second time in her association with Sherlock, he sounded unsure… still not something she was comfortable with, and probably never would be.

'You need my help?'

'Yes.' Well, that settled that. As much as Molly was loath to admit it, she would help him even if he didn't want it. Him wanting it was simply a bonus, usually meant new lab equipment being delivered for her use only. And he would only monopolise it, if the case was a nine or ten.

'I'll be there as soon as I can.'

She hung up and grabbed her coat swinging it on, heading for the door. She paused at it and turned back to the boys pointing at one and then the other.

'No leaving. Under any circumstances, I don't care if the place is on fire or your mother has risen from the grave and is tap dancing outside, _stay put._ '


	8. Chapter 8

Molly hopped out the taxi, taking a moment to observe the police officers milling around outside, Donovan talking animatedly on her phone with people at the side watching curiously trying to figure out what was going on. Like the woman who owned the centre of attention who was on the footpath outside feeling like she was about to drop kicked in the gut.

'Molly.' John appeared in the doorway, smiling reassuringly at her, but the slightly worried look in his eye was the exact opposite of his intention. As she stepped forward towards him, she could hear the oh so lovely sound of Sherlock giving out.

'How bad is it?' She stopped just short of the stoop and swallowed heavily as it became more and more apparent that Johns smile was the fakest she had ever see.

'It's more disturbing then bad.' Janine appeared with Toby in her arms; who was purring slightly in her arms. She was dressed immaculately in an elegant trouser suit, hair flowing in loose curls. No wonder Greg was attracted to her, heck even a part of Molly was attracted to her.

'Okay then. I'm going to find out what's going on. Instead of the tense looks and worry vibrating off you both.' She walked past them both, John quickly moving to the side out of her way, though Molly did pause to give Tobs a quick scratch behind the ears.

Sherlock's voice was unusually loudly, arguing vehemently with someone whose voice she could not discern. It was insane, Molly was hesitating to enter her own flat she mentally kicked herself before entering the flat.

The Holmes brothers turned to look at her, quickly hushing their conversation Anthea nodding before walking away picking up a couple of files as she left the room. Molly looked at the wall that Sherlock was trying to distract her from, by moving away from it, to see a shadowed outline of her face burned into her wall, blood dripping from her eyes, mouth and nose.

'I really never _got_ modern art. This doesn't help much.' She tilted her head and squinted her eyes at it, both Mycroft and Sherlock looked at each other and then down at her.

'I don't understand why John was so worried. Simply gives you more clues right?'

Sherlock was staring at her in a manner that had Molly wanting to flee in the opposite direction as fast as she possibly could. His eyebrows contracting, head pulling away from her, jaw tightening, forcing her to break eye contact with him all together.

'I told you she'd be fine. Maybe a little too fine, but she is a friend of _yours_ Sherl. You don't do normal.' Janine appeared, putting Toby down on the ground who stared up at the woman; tail swishing slightly before he wandered off.

'He reminds me of someone…' She grinned, waggling her eyebrows at the otherwise occupied Sherlock and Molly found herself smiling back and laughing. Mycroft glanced at the pair, gave his brother an indecipherable look, well to Molly as Sherlock seemed to understand it just fine. Based on the tightening of his jaw.

'Wouldn't let me leave without him… So he's a little different.'

'Oh I don't know. His likeness seems to be hopeless without you.' Greg stomped into the room, pausing to give Janine his best charming smile, which had Molly rolling her eyes good naturedly. The woman in question looked him up and down and quirked an eyebrow at her, not unimpressed by the DI.

Sherlock was looking in horror as the two women began to laugh and talk, ignoring the rather alarming portrait on the wall, Mycroft was his typically pompous self and Greg was trying to talk to Sherlock urgently.

'How about we leave the boys to their work, and we go get us a couple of drinks? Looks like you might need it.' Janine's head tilted, squeezing her arm.

Molly paused for about a second taking in the DI and Sherlock having a heated debate. Mycroft examining her possessions in disdain before her head whipped back around to Janine, eyes about bugging out of her head.

'I'll take that as a yes, oooooooooooone second.' She turned picked up a couple of bags and handing them to Molly, she peered into them, seeing clothes and looking up in confusion.

'Oh you haven't seen the other stuff have you? Ammm I got you started with a new wardrobe, I'm sure the British government and Sherl can cover the rest, it was their job to protect you after all.'

Molly stepped into her room and closed her eyes at the sight of all of her clothes turned to ash on the bed, except for one black dress and one dark purple one. The former she wished they had burned, with the associated humiliation and the latter which she had worn to Sherlock's "funeral" two years ago. They hung on the open doors of her wardrobe mockingly, more ash spilling out of it. She closed the door just as Sherlock's face popped into view and changed out of her clothes.

Now Molly was trying to work her way into a very slim pair of fancy pants, the skinny pants dance was not all that helpful. Though as she looked in the mirror, she had to admit her lower half looked fantastic.

'You doin' alright love?' Janine popped her head in, turning away as Molly pulled off her jumper and shirt, but Molly just shrugged.

'Fine, but these must have cost you a small fortune.'

'Well I have amassed quite a bit, so I might as well share the wealth. Should I go…?' Molly pulled out a deep blue Bardot neck-lined top, eyes widening at the price tag. Janine gestured behind her vaguely. Molly frowned; a little confused by her sudden embarrassment.

'Sherlock stayed on and off for two years. He had a tendency to wander into my room and bathroom when I was in varying stages of undress, as was he.' As she finished the sentence, she neatly cut off the price tag, pulling it on as Janine flopped down on her chair.

'You actually saw…' Janine's eyes widened almost comically, as she took in Molly's careless little comment as she tugged the top into place and humming approvingly.

' _All_ of him? Yeah.'

'We need to have a chat about _that._ ' Molly paused and looked round at Janine who was leaning forward, mouth slightly open and looking annoyed.

'You didn't?'

Janine's face said it all as she sighed and sagged into the chair, pouting in clear disappointment.

'I find that odd, even John has seen _everything_. Sherlock has an aversion to clothes when at home.' Molly stood in front of her mirror, pulling the hair out of the top and fixing her make up.

'Oh come on! Right, we are getting you very drunk, you need it. Emotional trauma, distress all that.' Janine pulled out an elegant blue mac, tossed it at her and grabbed her by the wrist, snagging both their bags and pulling her out of the room.

'We're leaving you boys and girls to it, ta taaaa!'

* * *

'So he actually let you call him Mike?' Molly cackled over several pints of beer, Janine was crying with laughter, nodding and tossing her head back.

'That is ridiculous!'

'I KNOW! John's face was hilarious when he heard me say it!' She slammed her palm down on the table, forcing Molly to try and stop the drinks from sloshing everywhere.

'John does do the most _interesting_ faces!'

'Especially when they squabble!'

'Married couple!'

'Minus the sex!'

'A lot of my married friends would say that, that missing component is a part of a marriage.' Molly took a sip of her drink, pointing at Janine with the hand that was holding it. Janine started laughing again, winking at Molly getting up slowly and grabbing some of the empty glasses. Molly stopped her raising her hand as she drained the last of her drink and passed the glass over.

'Thank god neither of us got married then! Can't be missing out on the joys of sex!' She exclaimed loudly and trying to skip to the bar, but a combination of the alcohol and heels, made it more of a bumbling bouncing walk.

One man sitting near their corner booth, raised an eyebrow hopefully, getting up and walking towards her, he paused at the table and smiled down at Molly. She could see Janine lean over from the bar watching the pair, eyes widening as he turned and grinned at her meaningfully, Molly held her hand up on more. With an _"I've got this"_ look on her face she leaned on one elbow and smiled cutely up at the man.

He wasn't too unattractive, she'd give him that, but he was very typical attractive and that had never been her type.

'Molly Hooper pathologist at Barts. And that is Janine Hawkins, Sherlock Holmes' ex-finance. Annnnnnd you're gone.' She held her hand out to greet him. He made it as far as Sherlock before bolting from the table leaving Molly sitting there bopping along to the rather excellent music choice. Arctic Monkey's if she was mistaken, though her extreme tipsiness made that a questionable conclusion. She waved her hand with a flourish at his retreating back, Janine watched him walk past her; in fact take a wide berth away.

'Oh did he go? What a shaaaaaaaaame, why wouldn't we want a threesome with him? Bleh.' Four shots of tequila were placed in front of her, Janine taking two with extreme care.

'Oh now that is a handsome man! And he's making eyes at you Hooper!' Molly frowned as Janine indicated with her head one particular guy wearing a leather jacket with stubble.

_Oh she was going to murder him._

'Oh you go for it! Make Cheekbones suffer!' Molly stood up and Janine hooted loudly, snapping her fingers in a sloppy Z formation, before starting on her drinks. Molly took a breath, licked the salt off her hand, down the two shot in quick succession and stuffing the lime in her mouth to prepare herself for the conversation.

And act.

Oh how Molly hated this acting routine she was about to put on.

'Is this how you usually spend your time?' Dean asked turning to face her, smirking playing about his lips. Molly leaned on the bar and waggled her eyebrows for a moment, causing Dean's face to contort in confusion and she just rolled her eyes.

'Play along; Janine thinks… well I think from her outburst that is obvious. So just do what I ask _for once_ please.'

'So me hitting on you, is a favour?'

'You've been doing that since you arrived, shouldn't be too taxing. I hope.'

'You suck at this.'

'I don't want to do this.'

'Then why are you?'

'Because you showed up and stared! I clearly can't trust you not to blow it.'

'Your act is a little rusty; your friend might think that you weren't attracted to me _at all_.' Dean leaned into her, sending a wink over to Janine.

'Because I'm not.' She signaled the bartender for another drink trying to act like she wasn't wishing for someone to shoot her at this particular moment. Or even for Sherlock to gate crash.

Though that would be a whole other problem she was not prepared for.

'Well you seem to be one hell of an actress I do like the clothes though.'

'Yeah well I don't have many other options at the moment. Someone took issue with my wardrobe.' She smiled brightly, staring daggers at Dean who looked confused and a little afraid.

'The thing I was called away to, turned out to be that someone had broken into my flat, burned my face into the wall, added a _charming_ bleeding effect as well as burning my clothes.'

'Why?'

'Wish I knew. It's just another question. Wasn't demons though, place has been warded at least.'

'You have a very weird life.'

Molly nodded at the barman and looked at Dean expectantly who looked from one to the other and then groaned, passing him a 20 pound note and asked for a long neck beer.

'The only person with a relatively normal life is Janine. And she was working for a sociopathic blackmailing ass, got engaged to Sherlock and then lied her ass off to the media about him…' She trailed off; lip curling slightly, and thinking deeply.

'Shit. So much for normal then.' She continued as Dean nodded, looking somewhat impressed, Janine whistled loudly as she left the bar, Molly made to go after her.

'No no no nooo. You stay, have fun with him.'

'How about you have fun with him? I have fine with the having of no fun. Are you okay to get home?'

'I have a driver. Oh go for it Hooper, looks like he knows a thing or two.' She leaned round and winked at Dean who smiled charmingly back, causing the other woman to giggle.

'We'll talk later; we have to get you a whole new wardrobe. Bye!'

'Uh- wait!' Molly tried to stop the woman, but she was gone before she could protest.

She went back to the bar, looked at Dean who arched an eyebrow at her so she downed her drink and swiftly ordered another.

* * *

Molly stumbled into her flat a few hours later, stumbling over the small step, grabbing onto the door to steady herself.

'Molly.'

'Oh! Hi! Sherlock! Why are you still here? You're not usually here, you are usually there.' She waved enthusiastically kicking off her heels, forcing Sherlock to move quickly to avoid being smack in the face with it.

'Where were you?'

'Out. As in the _reeeeal_ world? Heard of it?' She twirled, laughing happily oblivious to the concerned look she was getting.

'Drinking.'

'Yes, I did do that. I did _not_ leave _you_ a voice message.' She pointed at him with a flourish, flopping onto the couch, flinging her jacket in a random direction.

'I may have left Tom an angry one though.' She paused thoughtfully then looked over at him smiling drunkenly.

Sherlock walked over to her, leaning down and examining her.

'Janine picked out clothes that suit you perfectly. Though I do miss your jumpers.' Molly sat up and looked up at him with massive eyes, blinking slowly.

'You always said they were hideous.' He coughed awkwardly eyes widening comically and she smiled at him.

'They suit you.'

'Hm.' She stood up, practically pressed up against him, causing his eyes to shoot wide open even further and to gulp loudly.

'Thanks Sherlock.' She reached up on tippy toes and kissed him on the cheek, well due to her inebriated state, to was slightly off centre and just on the corner of her lips. She hummed happily before walking away, but she stopped at the door to her room.

'Is it okay that I sleep here? Isn't it a crime scene or something?'

'Oh yes, that is why I am here. Baker Street. Few nights. Mycroft will fund a new wardrobe.'

'Oh excellent, Janine will be happy. She's nice under the lying, but you don't mind that, so I'm okay with that.' Molly shrugged swaying to and fro on her feet, thinking out loud more so then actually talking to Sherlock.

'Come on then.'

'Right!' Molly bopped over to him and then over to the door, Sherlock finally seemed to catch up to reality and looked at her, head to toe.

'Shoes.'

'Right!' She bounced past him, punching him on the shoulder and falling over one shoe in the attempt to find the other.

* * *

'Never ever believe me when I'm drunk Sherlock!' Molly was pulling at her hair, having a very pointless and roundabout argument.

'You agreed.' All she could come out with was a very garbled frustration noise from her throat as her eyes bugged out of her head and made claws at his face.

'I WAS DRUNK! I have some very odd messages from you, so you cannot judge!' Molly actually stomped her foot in annoyance trying to make the obtuse man understand her point of view.

'I have my own life Sherlock, outside of cases and you, I like having that. I'm only a small bit of yours; can you please let me be?' She waved at him, praying to the universe as God was not bothered with humans.

'Look I have to go. We'll talk once the hangover is gone.'

'AH!' She stopped him before he could start and stormed out of the flat, barely acknowledging Mrs. Hudson as she came up the stairs with Sherlock's tea.

She came out onto the street, glaring up at Sherlock who was staring down at her from the window. She just started waking in a random direction, trying to work everything out; she couldn't even have a bit of fun without _something_ happening.

This had probably been the first time she hadn't been pestered by Dean or Sherlock, or anyone else trying to check as to how she was doing. What was it about her that screamed that she was a tiny fragile doll that needed to protected and watched over?

She stomped through the teeming city, getting angrier and angrier with everything, her home had been trashed, her safe house had Dean Winchester in it, the case was moving at a snail's pace, and Sherlock was pissing her off.

Hence why she hadn't noticed her multiple tails until it was too late. She was surrounded. She stopped in the street and held her hands out from her body palms turned outwards. One demon strolled over to her holding a blindfold. She closed her eyes, head tilting back as the demon stepped forward.

'Do I get to see Jim again? It has been a while, he never calls, never just pops in to say _hi_.'

'Shut up.'

'Oh all kidnapping no talk. Stereotypical of you lot.' He strapped on the blindfold tighter than was totally necessary, her mouth was causing her more problems.

But if she was being taken hostage, she might as well amuse herself as she did so.

Unfortunately, the demons taking her were not game for such self-amusement as she was injected with a sedative. With her last few conscious moments she prayed that Sam was able to derail Dean from derailing everything.

And that Sherlock took a deviation from his usual bull-headed investigative techniques.


	9. Chapter 9

The light glared into her eyes painfully; in fact Molly jerked back in pain from the sudden change from the dark. She closed her eyes instinctively, but jerked them open as an open hand collided with her cheek. Blood exploded in her mouth.

'What-?'

'No questions.' Molly couldn't put a face to the voice, the bright light surrounding her cast everything else in heavy shadow.

'You hit me before I said anything.'

Another smack. Another laceration to the inside of her cheek.

'Shut up!' A hand reached out grabbing her mouth, distorting it into a fish like pout; painfully. As soon as it had grabbed her, released her and all she could hear was a pair of heels clicking into silence.

She winced, vestiges of drugs still coursing through her system. Molly didn't have to move her arms to know her extremities were going to be useless in an escape. She was alone. And just in her underwear.

Well that was unfortunate. It also had the added misfortune of being incredibly smart. She had a couple of small blades hidden in her bra. The almost absolute dead weight of her limbs made that an improbable option for the moment.

And given the high level of organisation of the demons that had captured her, _it was going to be next to impossible._ As she twisted her arm experimentally she felt a foreign object in the crook of her elbow. Molly curled her arm around the best she could and rubbed it against the chair she was bound to. An IV.

These guys were really smart.

Too smart she mourned as she felt the pull of a sedative, her head lolling backwards.

Oh.

Not good.

Not just a bit not good either.

Molly woke up again to find herself chained and bound quite tightly to a wooden bench.

Even her head was restrained.

Now that was excessive.

'Crowley?'

'No.' The woman had entered the room again, but was just out of her eye line. A gentle tapping echoed.

'Who are you?' The restraints contracted. Molly screamed loudly as her joints were being tugged out of their joints. Her vision whited out, this something was holding back from the world of unconsciousness. The pain was blinding. The woman, who ever she was; was leaning over her but she couldn't make out anything.

'For a smart woman, you are very slow.' Her voice gave way; the pain was too much. Tears streamed down her face.

'Enough.' She called out with all the seriousness of someone ordering a coffee. Molly's chest heaved as her joints burned.

'You will answer my questions or scream. That is all you are allowed.' She clicked her fingers, turning away. Molly glared unseeingly up at the ceiling, dragging up all the determination and stubbornness, resolute in not giving this woman another sound. Except her witticisms when she got to ganking her.

The head restraint was released, as were her leg ones and she was yanked off the table. She looked round, receiving another smack to the face.

Three demons dealing with her directly. The woman standing casually at the other side of the room; _no clues to her identity._ And at least six around the door.

She needed help.

So much. Then Molly was handcuffed to a freezing cold, wet wall. Wet?

'Now… Where is James Moriarty?' The woman, still in the dark to her; voice low and menacing. But there was something.

An element that stirred something in her. What that was? She had no clue.

'No idea.' She shook her head slowly.

'Oo!' A knife cut up through her barely healed injury but was deeper and reached up to just under the hollow of her throat.

'I don- _don't know_.'

Slit to just above her right breast, bra barely staying on.

' _I haven't found him.'_ She wheezed around a punch to the gut.

One to the inside of her thigh, Molly just about bit through her lip in trying to not scream.

' _We don't know anything.'_

Ice cold salt water. She started to heave, but given she hadn't eaten in recent memory. Bile splashed the demon dosing her. It was like hundreds of tiny blades were spinning in her cuts. Molly had clearly missed some as more and more of her was yelling in agony.

'Enough. Leave her.' The woman ordered. A blindfold was wrapped around her head. Molly was only letting tears fall down her face as it was impossible to control that was well as the urge to scream. She froze as the woman stood in front of her; radiating a warmth that was unnerving. There was a moment. She was trembling, the woman oddly fluid as she reached up and stroked Molly's cheek. Almost tenderly.

Motherly.

Around and around the merry go round they went.

Five days of drugs, torture and the same questions being aimed at her.

The only difference was in the fact that it was getting more and more intense and severe.

And that woman was both intensely cold and creepily maternal towards her. She had woken up at one point, to find her humming and braiding her hair. Another; singing softly.

It was by far the weirdest interrogation technique she had ever experienced or heard of.

And it was beyond terrifying.

If she had the information they were looking for, she _might_ have told them. Just for the sole purpose of getting her to leave. She hadn't been given a lone moment. Simply another means of getting under her skin. Luckily she had a Sherlock Holmes in her life.

Nothing was secret.

Molly had learned that with him, everything was in the open.

Except her hunter side. That, however; was a rare shadow in her life.

* * *

" _Molly!"_

" _ **MOLLY!"**_

_Her head whipped round trying to locate the source of the scream. The room was bright. White. Blind white light everywhere. Seemingly coming from every direction. No shadow could grow in it._

_The screams continued._

_Even though she felt the freedom of movement there, it was impossible for her to cover her ears._

_Initially it was one voice and it quickly devolved to pandemonium._

_Light blasting, screams howling and no escape; no way to help them._

_Some of the voices were terrified, others angry but there was one; so pained and tortured it could barely pass as human. It rumbled through her, sending shockwaves through every nerve ending in her body._

_Eventually she fell to the ground, trying to huddle in the foetal position, but suddenly the floor vanished from her._

_Then she was falling, and it seemed like she would never stop._

_This time all she could see was her own body. In fact she could see herself, reflect in one side as she dropped down._

_Molly wondered if she would ever be able to look herself in the mirror without seeing that fear._

* * *

'Enough.' She jolted awake, sitting up and gasping for breath; not able to bite down on the nausea, vomiting copious amounts of bile. The woman was sitting at her side, gently stroking her hair back as she vomited.

'It's alright dear. Just breathe.'

'What is going on?' She managed to breathe out, coughing intermittently. Trembling constantly. Her vision was blurred, the slightest lights flaring.

'Looking for answers. Trying to find the King. Rest my love.' She reached down and kissed her softly on the top of her head. Molly pulled away feeling even more sickened.

'What answers? You've asked me so many times, I don't know anything.' She called after her, weakness seeping out of her every pore.

'You may know more than you know…' The tone was more chilling then the creepy motherly overtures. She turned giving Molly a clear view of her face. However, all Molly could see were the unusual midnight blush eyes. Black, yellow and blood red demon eyes she had seen, midnight ones…?

That was a first.

Also Molly knew that for all the touchy-feely stuff, she could not hesitate when the time came.

_She had to get out._

The question was how.

Molly was now in a cell, alone for once. There was an occasional sentry. Nothing she couldn't handle. If you ignored the fact that she was just in her pants.

'Molly Hooper.' She ripped out a knife and held it up to the voice that echoed behind her. A dark hair man stood behind her. In a rather dirty trench coat.

'Annnnnnd you are?' She asked, taking a step back, bracing against the wall.

'Castiel.'

'The angel?'

'Yes.'

'I thought you'd be taller.'

'Dean asked I bring you home.'

'Woah wait wa-'

Suddenly she was on the stairs leading to 221B. Alone.

'Molly! Jesus! Sherlock! Mary! She's here!' Molly looked up to see John at the top of the stairs looking at her in shock. She went to say hello, but collapsed almost as soon as she opened her mouth.

'Molly. How did you get here?' Sherlock appeared leaning over her. He scanned her body, completely unaffected by her state of undress. Or the blood slowly seeping from her injuries.

'Doesn't matter how, look at her!' The same could not be said for John though. He was inspecting each cut carefully. Sherlock shrugged off his coat and passed it to John. John blinked loudly. His friend rolled his eyes. John's face contorted and his eyebrows shot up as realisation dawned. Molly herself was barely able to follow the conversation. What little she had in her, was dwindling. John gently helped her up, wrapping the coat around her.

'Get her in here! I'll get the first aid kit and some clothes.' Mary's voice issued from the upper floor. Sounding completely fed up which, had Molly had the energy, would've made her laugh.

'Molly?'

'Hi Sherlock.' She blinked at him, frowning. As her vision began to swim; the dark blue eyes glared at her from the ceiling.

* * *


End file.
